


Viva Las Vegas

by samchandler1986



Category: GLOW (2017), GLOW (Netflix)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: GLOW is commissioned for a series. The catch? Filming takes place in Las Vegas...





	1. Good News

** Ruth **

She sleeps in her running gear. It’s easier, in the end. She feels less guilty slipping out into the soft dawn glow if she hasn’t clattered around the room, waking Sheila early. She’s outside tying her laces when his car pulls up. She straightens, frowning, hands on hips. She expects someone to unfold from the passenger seat. Rhonda, perhaps, reconciled in the heady aftermath of their miraculous triumph. Instead he kills the engine and… waits.

She paces over. A lioness prowling the edge of her territory.

“Hey,” he says, unperturbed. He’s tapping out a cigarette from the carton but seems sober enough.

“Hey,” she returns cautiously.

“Anyone else awake?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Right.” He squints up at her. “I’ve got news.”

She swallows, ignoring the swoop in her stomach. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” There is a long moment of stillness, until he loses the battle of wills. His mouth twitches under that ridiculous moustache. “It’s a yes.”

“A wha—a _yes_?”

“Twenty-six episodes.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” she hears herself saying, from a long way away.

“Yeah,” he agrees, lighting the cigarette. “So, are you in?”

She opens her mouth, and a bit of borrowed cynicism flashes a fin. She swallows her immediate response, opens the car door instead. “What’s the catch?” she says, taking a seat.

He gives her an appraising look. “You’re learning.” He inhales a plume of smoke, chooses his words carefully. “Filming in Vegas. We’ll block out the first six episodes here in the gym, and then we’ll head out. Six months minimum. Show a week.”

There’s no way Debbie is going to agree to that, she wants to say, the happy swoop in her stomach swiftly replaced with a leaden feeling. “Well,” she says slowly instead, “ _I’m_ in.”

He nods. “That’s a start, then.”

* * *

And here they are on the bleachers once more. Sam sitting on the edge of the ring, knee bouncing with nervous energy. “Morning ladies,” he says, pausing as if they’re going to chorus ‘ _morning Sam!_ ’ in reply, like Charlie’s Angels. He smiles in the silence that rings instead. “So, we got commissioned.”

He knows to wait as they react; whooping, cheering, high-fives. Only Cherry is as still as she is, face inscrutable. Ruth starts to bite her thumb nail.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “That was my reaction too. Now for the tricky part. Filming’s in Las Vegas. One show a week. Twenty-six shows in total.”

Stunned silence follows this extraordinary pronouncement. Jenny and Arthie exchange looks of wide-eyed rapture. Sheila is inscrutable as ever. Ruth doesn’t even need to _look_ at Debbie to read her anger; she can feel it radiating from every stiff line of her body.

“So,” Sam is saying, “six weeks of blocking starts now. We want the initial storyline all set up ready to go—” He stops at the sudden movement, raises an eyebrow. To everyone’s surprise it is Cherry, not Debbie, that is walking out. Debbie herself looks a little put out by this, mouth hanging open. “Yeah,” Sam says, nodding like this is all something he expected. “I’ll just go and… Ruth?”

She snaps to attention. “Yes?”

“Take over for a minute, yeah?”

Eleven pairs of suspicious eyes turn on her as he follows his friend outside. “Um,” she squeaks. “So, what Sam is thinking is we’re essentially two teams. Good versus evil, fighting for the crown. Obviously, Tammé holds it at the end of the pilot, so she’s going to be the leader of the bad girls for now—”

“Ruth, did you just stroke out at the part where he said _Las Vegas_?” snaps Melrose. “I mean, _fuck_!”

She tries not to cringe. “I know. It’s a big change. But honestly, it can't be any worse than the _Spur_ , can it?” She offers up a silent prayer to any gods who may happen to be listening that this is true. “And the requirement to live there will _only_ run on weekdays—”

“Yeah, I can’t possibly do that,” says Debbie.

And here they are again, Debbie’s eyes narrow like an angry cat’s; boring into her soul. She swallows, trying to keep the rising note of hysteria out of her voice. “I know it feels like—”

“No, you don’t,” Debbie snaps back, annoyingly level. Why is she so good at this righteous anger? Like some goddess of vengeance sent from Olympus, while Ruth is damp with perspiration.    

“Hey, if this is going to be another dull monologue about your fucking fucked up life, can we skip to the part where you storm out?” drawls Melrose. “Sweetie, you’re not the only person with stuff you care about here.”

“We all have family,” says Carmen, good cop.

The door bangs open before anymore shit hits the fan; Sam returning in a haze of smoke and bright sunlight. “Right,” he snaps, “just in case anyone else in here is harbouring delusions of grandeur, I can recast any of you, _any_ of you, with a six-foot Amazon showgirl when we get to Vegas. Ok?” Sullen silence follows this pronouncement. “Great,” he says, and stomps up the stairs to his office.

There is a long moment, eventually broken by Rhonda clearing her throat genteelly. “God,” she says, “I wonder what that would have been like if it was _bad_ news.”


	2. Au Revoir

**Cherry**

“So, what d’you want?” says Sam, around his cigarette. He has to almost run to catch up with her and she’d be lying if that didn’t feel good for change. “More money? More matches?”

She turns on him, hands on hips. “You _know_ I deserved a better character than that hip-hop rapper crap.”

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, considering his words. Eventually he meets her eyes, softer now; offering her the cigarette. “I’m picking up some use of the past tense.”

She takes a drag, annoyed to find her hands are shaking slightly. “I got offered a job.”

“Sounds like more than an offer.”

“It’s a _lead role_ Sam. A detective series. _Chambers and Gold_.”

“So, what? _Cagney and Lacey_ but one’s black and one’s Jewish?”

She sighs. That’s always been the trouble with Sam; just when she’s ready to write him off as the washed-up idiot he probably is, he’ll start being all perceptive.  “Yeah. That’s the pitch.”

“Shit. That’s…” His face contorts as he struggles for the words. “… I mean...”

She finishes the cigarette, grinding the stub into the asphalt while he opens and closes his mouth a few times.

“I’m happy for you,” he eventually manages, running a hand through his greying hair. “I mean, _I’m_ fucking screwed, but this is great news for you. You deserve it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, I do. I do. You trained everyone. Kept them together as a team. Got me to pull my sorry ass together… Hell, I’m even going to need a new _referee_. Unless…?”

“Oh, no. No, there’s no way in frozen hell I’m letting Keith go alone with you to Vegas while I work here all week.”  

“I figured.”

He scuffs his foot along the dusty ground, gives her another of those lightning-fast sad smiles. In the bright sunlight there are more lines around those eyes than she remembers; more white in his hair. None of them are getting any younger. The knot in her chest loosens slightly. This is the right thing to do.

“When do you start?”

“This afternoon. Costume fitting is at two.”

“Shit. They’re not hanging around.”

“Money’s good too.”

“Alright, alright, I can only be so gracious...” Another thought occurs. “Why’d you walk out, anyway? You couldn’t have just told me this inside?”

She gives him a lopsided smile. “Two seconds longer and it would have been Debbie walking out through that door. And then you really _would_ have a problem.”

“I can deal with Debbie.”

“Really? ‘Cos I don’t think you see how close to the edge she is with this Sam. You’re basically asking her to end her marriage.”

“So? Guy was a cheating dick, anyway.”

“Yeah. And the father of her baby.”

She expects another comeback. Instead, Sam looks down at the ground again. “I guess that makes him pretty important,” he says in a small voice.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” she scoffs, and shakes her head. “You still need her for bankability. You’ve got to make this worth it.”

“What, more money?”

“Have you _got_ more money?”

He rolls his eyes. “No.”

She purses her lips. “Honestly? I’d make her feel like she’s got to fight for this.”

“ _What_? Won’t that just push her over the edge?”

“Maybe. But come across like you’re desperate and you’re too easy to push away. Girl likes to win. Make it seem like staying on is a victory.”

“Is that what I should have done with you?”

A genuine smile this time. “Nah, I’m gone. You’re really shit to work with, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He smooths down his moustache, thinking. “Pilots are a crap-shoot, though. I’m thinking… this is _au revoir_ rather than goodbye.”

“Don’t they mean the same thing?”

“No, no. Everyone thinks that. _Au revoir_ means ‘until the re-seeing.’ It’s more hopeful, see? You’re not quitting. You’re just… taking a sabbatical. If this detective thing works out, great. If not… there’s still a place for you here on this shit-show. And Keith.”

She doesn’t say thank you; she doesn’t owe him that. But she nods, and shakes his outstretched hand.

“See you around, Detective Chambers.”

 “Until the next time, baby.”

She doesn’t look back as he heads back inside. Walks confidently across the parking lot to where Keith is waiting in the car.

“You okay?”

She takes his hand, kisses his fingers. Wonders if he knows how grateful she is that his first thought is always for her; how she feels. “I’m good,” she says, and she means it.

He smiles back, turns the ignition. She watches the gym out of sight in the rear-view mirror as they drive away. _Au revoir,_ she thinks, heart lighter. Like goodbye; but more hopeful.


End file.
